


Streamline

by stormae



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Competitive Swimming, F/M, Fluff, because imma sucker, i wouldn't call it angst, mild discomfort?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormae/pseuds/stormae
Summary: In which Doyoung is the school prodigy and also a bit of an asshole, and all you want to do is swim in peace.





	Streamline

It was not an admirable dedication to competitive sport that brought you to the doors of your university gym at almost two in the morning.

The transition from high school to university had seen you move out of home and into dormitories, effectively necessitating competence at looking after yourself. This adjustment had brought attention to the fact you were startlingly lacking in the skills you needed to live a balanced lifestyle.

Your cooking was dismal, toast being your only conquerable recipe, and laundry was a hurdle you had to learn to jump very quickly. You had shrunken some of your favourite items of clothing, so the learning process was not without casualties.

But, through requirement and trial and error, you became quite competent in doing your laundry and keeping your room clean and getting places on time. However, even though you were now in your second year, you had never been able to triumph over your culinary incompetence.

So you had to resort to lots of microwave noodles and toast with unhealthy spreads to keep you from famine, which meant you had to counteract your unbalanced diet somehow.

You knew the answer was the gym, but between your intense schedule and your hatred for almost all physical activity, you could rarely find a time during the day to go.

Enter: Chittaphon. 

One of your best friends that you had made at uni, Chittaphon was a trainer at the on-campus gym. Noticing your dilemma and channeling his passion for fitness, he had arranged with his manager to grant you access to the gym after hours.

So that was why you were stood in front of the locked doors at almost four in the morning, scrabbling through the stones in the pot plant beside the entrance to find the spare key Chittaphon hid for you. You always ended up at the gym ludicrously late at night or early in the morning, normally due to your poor time management.

Your fingers closed around the familiar plastic bag that encased the key, and within minutes you were making your way through the expansive, dark gym. The workout machinery cast eerie shadows under the moonlight that streamed in through the windows, unnerving you. You shifted your bag a little higher on your shoulder and walked a little faster towards the pool deck.

Despite your intense aversion to the majority of activities requiring physical exertion, you had always adored swimming. The way the water caught you as you dived it, refreshing your senses and supporting you as you fell into an easy rhythm, thoughtlessly rotating your arms and kicking your legs until your mind was blank. The only thoughts running through your head consisted of kick kick breathe, kick kick breathe.

Although you had swum since you were little, your parents deeming it a vital skill (unlike cooking), you had never put in the hours to excel at it the way the kids in squads had. You were not innately competitive, so it had never really phased you. You were just happy to take enjoyment from the act, itself.

The change rooms were cold and stark, the sound of your rubber slides echoing harshly around the empty, tiled room. You didn’t mind, though. You actually far preferred swimming by yourself.

The hour was so early due to the assignment you had stayed up to finish. Your work ethic tended to kick into gear only after the sun went down, so you had to make use of the hours when you were feeling most prepared for work. This meant taking up the time that may have otherwise been spent replenishing your sleep stores.

You had finished you essay half an hour ago, and found you weren’t as tired as you expected to be. You had an eight AM lecture to attend, and then the rest of the day free, so you decided to take a dip to refresh yourself before the lecture, and sleep solidly afterwards.

You come out of the change rooms, expecting to have to fumble along the wall for the light switch to the pool deck as you always did, only to find the huge hall already brightly illuminated.

The reason for this was most likely the lean frame standing atop one of the diving blocks, sliding goggles down over his eyes and running long fingers quickly over the smooth latex of his cap.

He was tall and leanly muscled, with broad shoulders and a defined chest and stomach. Such a physique was not uncommon for swimmers, but the way he curled one defined arm over the other in a quick stretch seemed particularly special.

His face was narrow and jaw defined, but with the goggles over his eyes and a scrunched brow he looked severe, almost angry.

He turned his face to the huge seconds clock on the wall, waiting for the hand to tick around to five before zero, bending over on the block, pausing for a moment before launching himself into the water.

Your jaw sagged in awe as he cut a perfect arc through the air, dipping into the water with minimal splash and gliding beneath the surface for several counts. When he cracked the water tension, each arm curved over the other with incredible form and grace. He didn’t even look like he was applying that much effort, but his speed begged to differ. He was flying through the water at a more than impressive pace, elegant and rhythmic as if the water were working with him to carry him along as quickly as possible.

You padded around to the blocks, moving yourself to the lane farthest from the talented boy and climbing up, not bothering to check the clock before diving into the water. It was by no means as graceful or technically superb as the dive you had just watched, but you were not trying to be. For you, swimming was a therapeutic hobby meant for staying both mentally and physically fit.

With that thought in mind, you let the cool sensation of water sliding over your limbs and the lulling motion of each arm moving at a steady pace reclaim your attention.

A few laps were all you needed to appropriately revitalise yourself, the endorphins coursing through your body and sparking your dulling mind. Now all you needed was a shot of strong caffeine and you’d easily make it through the lecture.

Deciding to stop before you risked fatigued all over again, you came to the wall and hefted yourself out, stripping your head of the tight cap and removing the goggles, rubbing at the imprints on your skin.

You reopen your eyes to the sound of a body leaving water, and turn to see the other inhabitant of the pool lifting himself onto the deck.

He still seemed unaware of your presence, shedding his goggles and peeling the cap from his head to reveal a head of dark brown hair.

Without the cap and goggles, you had a proper look of his face as he turned and noticed you for the first time. You really should have known.

Doyoung was that guy on campus, at the university on a swimming scholarship but still smart enough to get good grades, and attractive beyond what he probably deserved. He possessed the trifecta of popularity, and had most people throughout campus clamouring to fawn all over him.

He was surprised to see you, that much you could tell. The atmosphere was plagued with awkwardness, the only sound being the pool filter and the pair of your still recovering your breath from the physical effort.

You’d never interacted with the guy before, so decided to simply flash him a polite smile, “Morning.”

Unfortunately, Doyoung didn’t seem to reciprocate the courteous sentiment. He sent you a glower that sent shivers down your spine and turned abruptly, disappearing into the men’s change room.

You were miffed, unsure what you’d done to so deeply offend him, but you brushed it off. He just must be more an asshole than most people on campus liked to believe. You knew he couldn’t have been so perfect, so the discovery was almost consoling. You figured the only way he got away with having a lacking personality was the fact he more than made up for it in every other facet of his being.

The residual water on your body exacerbated the chill in the very early morning air, and any thoughts of Doyoung were banished in favour of a warm shower. Much more worth your while.

—

Between trying to walk without tripping over your feet and reorganising your books so your bag sat flat on your back, you didn’t have any extra brain capacity to notice what was going on around you. So you didn’t heed the body striding towards you, resulting in the pair of you colliding with considerable force.

You managed not to drop anything, but the other party’s books and items scattered to the floor.

You crouched down to gather the fallen contents, glancing up and internalising a groan at the person you’d clashed with.

Identifiably broad shoulders and a hoodie and matching beanie displaying the university logo and Swim Team embroidered beneath were all the clues you needed to realise it was Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you mumbled under your breath, not willing to be more polite or exchange more words than absolutely necessary. After you’d stacked a few things and handed them back to Doyoung, who was yet to make a sound, you stood and went to make your way back to your dorm.

But Doyoung stayed crouched on the ground despite the fact all his things were once again in order, hands skittering over the concrete in front of him. His usual stand-offish expression was added to by an excessive squint and furrowing of the eyebrows.

Before you could remember that you weren’t too keen on him, you found yourself asking, “You all right?”

He released a dramatic sigh, turning his face up to you and continuing to squint. “I broke my glasses, and was going to the bathroom to put my contacts in. I dropped them when you bumped into me,” he said, tone accusatory.

You, unfortunately, felt immediately responsible.

“What does the case look like?” You asked, squatting next to him and beginning to scan the immediate area.

He was silent for a moment, perhaps debating whether you were being genuine or were planning to kick him while he was down. “Thin, clear plastic. I don’t like the bulkier container, they don’t fit in my wallet.”

“How convenient,” you muttered, but continued to search. After deciding the concrete was no good, you moved to the patch of grass next to the path, examining the blades of grass for the escaped contacts.

After what could easily have been more than five long minutes of scrabbling around on your hands and knees, you finally found the escaped container hidden between the tiny green stalks. You pinched it between your fingers, holding the rectangle aloft in victory.

You returned to where Doyoung had stood watching you crawl around on your hands and knees for him, thrusting the contacts into his hand.

“There you go,” you said, a satisfied smile on your face. Doyoung flashed you the briefest and most half-hearted of smiles, taking the packet and staring at it in the palm of his hand.

A thought flashed through your mind, “Do you need help getting to the bathroom? So you don’t bash into doorframe or other people?”

His reluctance was evident in the way he ducked his head, eyes flickering around the space behind you.

But to your surprise, he nodded. “Thanks,” he said again, this time with more familiar, arrogant conviction in his tone.

As the pair of you walked the halls of the university towards the bathrooms, another guy grabbed Doyoung’s arm, halting him in his tracks.

You watched on curiously as the ever so slightly softened features on Doyoung’s face hardened once again as the stranger asked for a girls number and an invite to a party.

“I don’t have her number, I barely know her name,” Doyoung bristled, animosity laced in every syllable, barely glancing at the other guy’s face as he spoke, “and I’m not going to that party anyway, so I can’t get you and invite.”

The newcomer visibly deflated, barely bidding Doyoung goodbye before disappearing off into the crowd.

Unimpressed by his tone and the way he’d basically dismissed the other guy like rubble under his feet, you were keen to part ways with him. You brought him to the door safely without anymore collisions, and shot him an uneasy smile.

“You have to do the next part yourself, unfortunately.”

He huffed a short laugh, and without another word vanished inside the bathroom. You stood for a moment, astonished that he hadn’t even said ‘thank you’ or ‘see you later,’ before brushing it off with a shrug and beginning your walk back to your dorm, dismissing all thoughts of Doyoung and his self-important gaze from your mind.

—

The pitch black darkness that had welcomed you at the pool two days later had left you breathing easier. The few precious minutes of seclusion you could grab in the middle of the night were a godsend to you, and had another being already occupied the pool you questioned whether or not you would have just turned around and gone back to your bed in frustration.

You hadn’t been able to sleep, reasons unknown, and had decided to exhaust yourself physically in order to achieve mental peace.

Your arms rotated evenly, cutting through the surface tension and dragging your body through the water. You couldn’t even feel any lethargy in your legs, too focused on the rhythm in your head. Stroke, stroke, breathe.

After what you supposed was a sufficient number of laps, you came to the wall and curled your fingers over the edge, removing your cap and goggles and just hanging there for a moment to catch your breath.

“Hey.”

Your heart may as well have stopped and started again from the fright the voice gave you. You hadn’t noticed the figure crouching next to the diving block, eyeing you suspiciously.

You narrowed your eyes ever so slightly at the sight of Doyoung. You had somehow known from the moment you stepped out of your dorm room over an hour ago that you were going to run into him, and here he was, fulfilling the prophecy.

“Hi,” you said between breathes, your voice as flat as his.

He stood to his full height as you clambered from the water, the sceptical look not leaving his dark eyes. The blatant distaste put you off, earning a scowl on your face.

“Calm down,” you huffed, “I was just leaving. You can have the pool all to yourself, your majesty.”

As the syllables strung together and left your lips, the look on Doyoung’s face transformed from miffed to one of recognition.

You went to move around him, but his warm, dry hand latched onto your wet arm, holding you in place for a moment.

Your eyes moved from his hand to his face, which held more positive emotion than you knew he could hold in his entire body. “What?”

“You’re the one that helped me the other day, right?”

“Yeah?”

He seemed unsure with how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I was surprised when I came out of the bathroom and you were gone.”

Your frown etched itself deeper into your face. “Sorry I couldn’t wait on you, hand and foot. I had other things to do.”

He seemed flustered at the obvious offence he had caused, releasing your arm but still blocking your path to the change rooms.

“It’s not that… um—,” he closed his eyes for a moment, before re-opening them and focusing on you, “Thank you for helping me so much that day.”

You were more than slightly taken aback. What spurred the desire to thank you now? “Uh,” you struggled against your bafflement, “it’s ok. No worries.”

The pair of you descended into another bout of silence, once again only remedied by the sound of the water filter and the air conditioner buzzing throughout the building.

Then, “I’m Doyoung, by the way.”

I know. “Y/N.”

He tried a smile, and you hated to admit that it made him even more handsome.

He stalled for a moment longer, seemingly debating once more between the words to choose. “Um,” he finally started again, “I have a swim meet this Saturday. I was wondering if you wanted to come.”

You were more than slightly taken aback. “You want me to come?” You couldn’t fathom why. This boy who you had only ever seen be cold and disinterested—and that was the very few times you’d interacted with him at all—was asking you to spend more time with him?

“I’ve got plans with friends on Saturday,” you lied on the spot, unsure of another way to get out of the commitment. As much as you wanted to see what sort of reaction he’d have to ‘no, I don’t want to,’ you didn’t have the heart to be so blunt.

But you were more than a little shocked by the way he seemed to deflate ever so slightly, the wide expanse of his shoulders dropping infinitesimally and his uncommonly bright eyes drooping ever so marginally. You were still nonplussed as to why he chose now to converse with you, when he had made it clear you were not his preferred person of choice.

“Well,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and flickering his eyes to the glass windows near the roof, where you could still make out one or two stars attempting to make themselves known, “it’s at Hanyang University from seven AM onwards, if you find the time.”

You nodded silently, wringing your damp hair and rubbing your arms where goosebumps had been raised by the cool air temperature.

Doyoung noticed, stepping to the side with haste to let you pass. “I’m sorry for keeping you, go take a hot shower before you catch a cold,” he said, his tone imperative and clipped once more.

You bid him a quiet goodbye and took his advice, but unlike your other encounters with him, you found him lingering in your mind more than you cared to admit.

—

You woke up early that Saturday, your body clock driving you from your bed at just after seven in the morning. You desperately needed extra hours of sleep to supplement the shut eye you’d missed the week prior and would be missing over the coming seven days, but no matter how much you tried to clear your mind and relax your body, your mind kept returning to the sounds of cars and people and birds starting their day beyond your window.

So you relinquished yourself to the oncoming day, rolling out of bed and shuffling yourself around the room. You didn’t have a whole lot to do that day. Your closest friends were with boyfriends or working or studying, and you didn’t have any of those three things on your ‘To Do’ list.

You could already feel boredom creeping in, and you contemplated heading down to the pool to get in some laps. However, the bright sunlight cascading in through the window reminded you that it was, in fact, a sane hour in the morning, and there would be other people making use of the facilities—turning you off the idea of swimming.

The notion of swimming offered you another option, though.

Today was the day of Doyoung’s meet at Hanyang. You remembered the university name, because it was the very same place your younger brother was in his first year.

You hadn’t seen him since Christmas, and you couldn’t deny the fact Doyoung intrigued you and that he was a brilliant swimmer. Those were all the excuses you needed to tug on jeans and a comfy sweatshirt and disappear out the door, texting your brother that you were on your way.

Thirty minutes later you were standing at the front entrance to the university, watching your brother amble his way towards you, bleary eyes hidden behind circular frames, artificially blond hair mussed from sleep and body shrouded in a hoodie too large for him.

“You woke me up,” he greeted you, lacklustre expression displaying exactly how thrilled he was with that fact. “Since when do you voluntarily hang out with me?”

“I was just as surprised when you actually agreed to me coming here,” you quipped back, stretching your arms out to embrace him in a hug. “How are you, Mark?”

He returned the embrace, before releasing you and stepping back.

“Confused about why we’re going to watch people swim, but too tired to question it. Does the offer still stand?”

“The offer where I buy you food?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged, directing you towards the university pool, “Then I don’t really care.”

The pair of you chattered away, falling into the sibling rhythm you’d had since you were both tiny. Now he was taller than you, an event that had happened when he was sixteen and had marked the end of you feeling like the older sister.

You settled into the hard plastic chairs in the bleachers of the swim centre, surprised by just how many others were there to fill the seats. Mark pulled his hoodie over his head and burrowed one hand into his pocket, the other rifling through a bag of chips, his entire being receding into the garment until you were pretty sure he was getting ready to take a nap.

You pinched the skin on his thigh where the rips in his jeans exposed his legs, causing him to jolt and shoot you an innocent look. Clearing his throat, he leant forwards and squinted through his glasses to make out the bodies lining up for the final. You’d not woken up early enough to catch the heats or the semis, but seemed to be there just in time to find out who would win.

“Are you just here to watch the guys with good bodies?” Mark queried, earning himself a slap to the arm. “That was a valid question and you know it.”

“No,” you rebutted indignantly, “you know I like swimming. I’m just interested in the sport.”

“That’s why you only managed to get here for the finals. Also known as the race with the fittest people.”

You eyed him suspiciously, “Where on earth did you learn to back chat from. You used to be so sweet.”

“My roommate likes to tease, so I’ve had to learn at least some verbal self-defense.”

You sighed dramatically and slumped in your chair, “Gone are the days where I could walk all over you. You’re taller and smarter, now.”

“I was always smarter.”

You were ready to retort with something that would probably just prove his point, when a gravelly old man’s voice echoed over the loud speaker, announcing the final for the men’s fifty metre freestyle.

Your eyes immediately latched onto the bodies standing from the waiting chairs and moving towards the blocks, shaking and stretching limbs and readjusting goggles.

Several of the boys taking position were wearing the distinctive colours and logo of your university, but they were all far from the same. Your eyes found Doyoung’s body easily, his silhouette now familiar to you.

He was the picture of composure, simply shifting his goggles slightly to check they were on tight enough, bare chest expanding and retracting as he took a deep breath, and then he was climbing onto the block and bending over in preparation for the indicative starting sound.

You could feel Mark’s eyes on you instead of the race, but you were far too preoccupied to care.

The buzzer went, eight bodies flinging themselves into the water at once. Supporters from different universities erupted into raucous cheering as the boys began to cut through the water, legs thrashing and arms rotating as they stretched their body to be longer and lighter and more streamlined than the competition.

But there was no real competition.

Just as you’d seen that first night at the pool, Doyoung does not push through the water as he swims, rather it carries him along, expedites his success. His motions were poised and effortless and wasted no energy, each more efficient and decisive than the last, each stroke of an arm pulling him further and further ahead of the others.

He moved ahead, surpassing the efforts of his rivals by at first half a length, and then the entire length of his long body. The water continued to propel him along in first place until his palm connected with the pad at the end of the wall, automatically stopping his time and confirming his win.

It was all over so astonishingly quickly that you found yourself delayed in jumping to your feet and cheering along with the other supporters from your uni, but you did so, nonetheless.

After the excitement had died down, you returned to your seated position, turning to make eye contact with Mark, who was already watching you intently.

“So you came to watch him.”

“Huh?” You tried, “No, I came to watch the race. I would have been excited if anyone from our school one.”

Mark glanced at the pool deck, where the swimmers were clambering from the water and grabbing towels from coaches, before looking back to you.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Then why is the guy that just won looking over here?”

You snapped your head towards where Doyoung was standing, sweeping a towel over his naked chest and ruffling his dark hair. His eyes were scanning the crowd, evidently in search. They tracked through the rows of seats, scattered with people, breezing over Mark and latching onto you.

The smile that spread across his face was something you could not have prepared yourself for, even if you had expected it. You hadn’t known him capable of such a radiant display of emotion. His lips split into a curving smile, the rapture made clear to you despite the distance between the two of you. You also would have never anticipated the way it made your stomach turn itself inside out or the way you automatically reciprocated the smile.

His coach broke the spell, shoving Doyoung towards the change rooms and leaving you alone with Mark.

Once again, you could feel Mark’s weighted gaze on the side of your head. “But you just came for the swimming, right?”

“Exactly,” you said.

The pair of you watched the last few finals for the other strokes over different distances, but Mark was finding it harder and harder to stay awake and your enthusiasm had waned quickly after Doyoung’s exit.

Afterwards, you and Mark spilled onto the pavement outside the centre, squinting against the mid-day sun but bracing yourselves against the brisk late winter breeze.

Mark informed you that he had a friend on the swim team that he wanted to quickly bid goodbye, leaving you waiting out the front for his return. You could steadily feel your organs freezing to ice blocks within you as you hung around.

As you stood patiently, you felt a delicate tap on your shoulder. Expectation immediately blossomed in your chest, which surprised you for a split second, but you did not have time to revel in your confusion. Turning to face the figure, you were not disappointed.

“Hey,” Doyoung beamed down at you, the same smile he’d flashed you from across the pool, “you came.”

“I did,” you said, rather redundantly, “congratulations. You were incredible.”

You almost rubbed your eyes to check what you were seeing was real. At your comment, he seemed bashful, maybe even a light tinge of pink blooming on his cheeks. His smile remained, and you decided that he was far more handsome when he was displaying happiness with the stretch of his lips and the glimmer in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he replied, “and thank you for coming. I didn’t expect you to.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t planning to come,” you admitted, ready to continue explaining yourself when you felt a presence come up behind you.

“Hey,” Mark said, “ready to go?”

In the brief time it took you to turn your head back to nod at Mark and return your gaze to Doyoung, he had transformed. Gone was the openness in his expression and the winning stretch of his lips, returned was the stoic, arrogant, cold expression you had originally thought was the only mask he was able to wear.

“You brought your boyfriend along?” He asked, voice flat and glacial, eyes regarding Mark critically.

You felt Mark stiffen behind you, and you recoiled immediately at the change in persona. The past few meetings with him had caused you to forget how truly unfriendly he was capable of being, and it immediately squashed any semblance of affection that had been rapidly growing in your chest for the boy.

“This is my brother, you asshole,” you struggled to rid your voice of the dismissive animosity you were feeling.

His facade cracked instantaneously as he heard your words, gaze softening and the hint of a smile at the corners of his pink lips, but it was too late. The constant shifting between personas was giving you whiplash as you tried to follow, and it was getting tiring.

Doyoung must have noted the disappointment in your expression and voice, because he didn’t try to say any more, eyebrows knitting towards each other as you turned towards your brother.

“Let’s head back, shall we?” You asked, ironing the wrinkles of despondency from your voice as you pushed Mark’s chest towards the gate.

“Sure,” he muttered, confusion tinting his eyes ever so slightly, “It was nice meeting you… um…”

“Doyoung,” the boy supplied.

“I’m Mark,” your brother responded, but you didn’t give them a chance to engage in any further conversation, propelling Mark away from the looming swim centre and the boy that, for whatever reason, you felt had let you down.

—

Standing on the diving block, toes curled around the textured edge, you were the furthest thing from relaxed.

The pool was deserted, as it always was in the wee hours of the morning, but the tension that was building in your shoulders could have sufficed for twenty people.

You had been swimming every morning for the past week, since you went to the swim meet. However, you were pushing your time spent in the pool closer and closer to midnight, and further from four and five and six o’clock, when semi-regular humans decided to swim.

You had successfully avoided Doyoung for the week, but the stress of actively evading someone was wearing you down.

But you chose to shove those thoughts to the recesses of your brain, and instead bent your knees and pushed yourself off the block, into the water. You sought the remedial effects of cutting a rhythm through the crystalline liquid, losing track of how many times your arms had twisted over each other or you’d turned your head to breath or how many times you had swum up and down the length of the pool.

When your lungs were burning and your legs unable to kick any more and you were barely managing to lift your arms from the water with each stroke, you retired to the wall, curling your fingers over the tiles of the pool wall and giving yourself a moment to regain your breath and strength.

Anything you had recovered, though, was quickly dispelled when you noticed the crossed legs of somebody sitting next to the diving block in front of you.

You jumped, shooting an irritated look at the culprit of your frightened heart rate. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Doyoung nodded, his eyes harbouring that same brightness that had so quickly and easily enticed you the weeks prior. Then, “You’re good, you know.”

You scoffed, pushing away from the wall slightly and letting yourself bob in the water, avoiding his intense gaze.

“I don’t swim to be good, I just swim to stay fit,” you dismissed his compliment. You found it incomprehensible that somebody that curved through the water with the natural fluidity of a dolphin would be complimenting your swimming.

“I’m serious.”

“You’re hilarious, that’s what you are.”

He huffed, apparently frustrated with you obstinance. He paused a moment, thinking, before, “You should compete at the next meet.”

You had no words, instead opting to just stare at him, slightly dumbfounded at his suggestion.

“To win a medal for biggest embarrassment?”

“I’m serious,” he reiterated, uncrossing his legs and letting his bare feet dangle into the pool water.

“No.”

“Think about it.”

“No.”

“Please?” He implored, why he was so invested in a near-stranger, you couldn’t fathom.

You hauled yourself out of the pool, Doyoung standing up with you, and you turned to face him. Something akin to braveness bubbled inside you, and you figured now was as good a time as any.

“Why’re you being so nice to me, when you couldn’t spare me anything but a disgusted glance the first few times I met you?” You challenged, ready to find the reason for his changeable personality.

He seemed taken aback, and didn’t move to say anything, so you pressed forwards. “But lately, you’ve been nothing but nice to me, but you’re still a dick to most people. I don’t get it, and it’s not very endearing.”

His round brown eyes were blown wide at your confrontation, but the shock is abandoned for a more serious gaze, brows drawn and mouth a firm line as you looked you directly in the eye.

“Ever since I was a little kid and got chosen for swim squads at really young age,” he explained, “people always pandered to my every whim, trying to get closer to me. It was generally with an ulterior motive, so that they could say they knew me ‘way back when’, to get me to introduce them to the other guys or girls on the swim team or get them invited to parties or get me to share my notes or homework with them.” He shifted his weight from side to side, evidently finding little comfort in the topic.

“I’m not harsh with people because I find being disliked fun. I’m just bad at discerning the good from the bad, so I assume the worst in all.”

Your heart strained slightly at his explanation. You could never relate to his situation, but you could only imagine how difficult it would be to be constantly questions whether you were valued as a person or what you could offer someone else.

“Why did you decide I wasn’t the Devil incarnate?” You queried, genuinely curious about what you had done to make you so special.

“When you helped me find my contacts, I assumed you were doing it to get something out of me, but I couldn’t exactly refuse your help,” he admitted, eyes diverting from yours to glance at the walls around you, “but when I came out of the bathroom, you were already gone. You also spent far longer than most would to find the lenses. I was really confused, I’d really expected you to ask me for a favour afterwards, but you proved me wrong.”

You had never been so circumspect with yourself and others, but you knew someone who had been, and it softened your hard exterior all the more towards the dark haired boy in front of you.

“You remember my brother Mark, right?”

“The guy I accused of being your boyfriend?” Doyoung winced, “Yeah.”

“He was always an incredibly bright kid, excelling in school, and because of that he was targeted by others for academic benefit. He became guarded and was reluctant to let others in,” you expounded, “but he found friendship in good people that he could trust. He’s still awkward, but he’s all right now.”

Doyoung nodded in understanding. He noticed you’d mostly air-dried as the pair of you conversed, the only things still wet being your swimming costume and your hair. He quickly removed his swim team sweatshirt, shoving it into your hands without room for protest. You would have shoved it right back, but you were feeling the chill in the air and desperately didn’t want to get sick, so you slipped the thick material over your head, finding immediate comfort in the residual warmth.

“I really do love to swim,” he said out of nowhere, surprising you but effectively regaining your wandering attention, “but I don’t really like competing.”

You were unable to prevent the quiet, wordless sound of disbelief escaping your lips. He noticed, acknowledging it with a bitter smile.

“I know, I compete a lot and am successful for someone who doesn’t like being competitive. I’d stop swimming competitively—or at least take a break—right now if given the chance. I’ve been doing it since I could kick my legs.”

“That’s not a viable choice?” You guessed.

“No,” he proved you right, “I’m here on a sports scholarship. If I don’t compete for the uni, my parents have to pay for my schooling, which is unnecessary and unfair if I have a means of avoiding that for them.”

The pair of you sat down on the diving blocks, continuing to talk about swimming and parents and expectations and everything in between the pages of those issues, whiling away the hours as the sun began to contemplate hefting itself from its bed below the horizon to bring light to the day.

You found yourself repeatedly marvelling at how mature Doyoung was, how eloquent he was in everything he was saying, and you found your initial perception of him crumbling before your eyes, making way for a new Doyoung that you liked far more.

—

Weeks passed, a quick meld of tests and tutorials and near sleepless nights spent at the pool.

You had not meant to take Doyoung up on his offer to train you, but he was persistent as the ache in your legs and arms and stomach muscles that refused to ebb.

But you would not have given up those nights spent at the pool with Doyoung for more sleep or more hours in the day, because they were giving you an insight into a person you were pretty sure very few other people were accustomed to.

As he grew more comfortable with you, Doyoung’s quick wit and sharp tough became more and more prevalent. Gone were the snide remarks and sneering looks he had guarded himself with before. They were replaced by good-natured jibes to elicit a laugh from you when you were close to refusing to swim another lap.

“If we get anything out of this training,” he’d said, crouched at the edge of the pool in nothing other than his swimming bottoms, yet to climb into the water, “I’d like for you to be able to swim faster than a mollusk, thanks.”

There was a moment of pause as you tried to regain some strength before starting another set. You’d found out over the course of the past few weeks that your breaststroke was actually faster than your freestyle, and there were few things to do with water that Doyoung was not brilliant at, so the pair of you had dedicated your time to training in that. Apparently Doyoung couldn’t let you have a moments silence in respite, and he spoke up again.

“I saw this video online,” he began, “of this sloth that was swimming across a bay to answer the call of a mate.”

“So?”

“His form really resembled your freestyle stroke.”

You reached up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and yanked, sending him tumbling into the water beside you. He surfaced quickly, spluttering and in blatant disbelief.

“You’re lucky I was crouching and had, like, no centre of balance,” he told you, “you have the strength of those gangly sloth arms as well.”

Apart from the swim training that took place during the depths of night, you started to meet up with Doyoung for lunch breaks as well. You were studying linguistics, whereas he was across campus studying medicine, but you quite often found yourself meeting him at a halfway point, at the little juice shop on campus.

“What’s my name in your phone?” He’d asked one lunchtime, leaning across the little round table, careful not to put his elbow in the sandwich sat before him.

You met his eyes directly, “Shady Hoe.”

He sat back in his chair, screwing up his features and furrowing his brow, “I don’t like it.”

“C’mon,” you crooned, “it’s affectionate. A term of endearment. It was that or Do-bunny, and I know how much you hate it when I compare you to a rabbit.”

He was silent in his consideration for a moment, before eyeing you, “It’s a term of endearment?”

“Yeah.”

He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, shrugging his broad shoulders, “That’s ok then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The hours spent in the pool had born rewards—your breaststroke time improved dramatically as you shed the seconds—becoming a swimmer who Doyoung deemed ‘actually possibly competitive’. High praise, apparently.

So that brought you to where you were now, stood on the diving block at the colossal swim centre, other young women from various universities lined up beside you. By some miracle neither Doyoung nor you had expected, you’d scraped your way into the final.

He had been fluttering around you as you waited to step up to the blocks, overtly very nervous. You were sure he was more anxious for your race than you were, with the way he kept asking if you felt ok, if your arms and legs and hips felt fine, if you needed water or if you felt sick.

“I’m fine,” you had to reiterate for the hundredth time.

He had been blasé about his heats, and was unflappable before and during his final (which he won, anyway), but seeing you sitting on the white waiting chair had him compounding more nerves than you thought humanly possible.

The preliminary signal sounded, bringing you back to the present and prompting you to bend over on the block in preparation. The buzzer sounded, and you launched yourself towards the water. As you streamlined underneath, surfacing to take a breath, push your arms out in front of you and your legs out behind you, you sought the familiar rhythm that you had developed all those late nights and early mornings with Doyoung.

You pulled you hands and legs towards you, before stretching them as far as they could go with as much force as you could muster. It was only fifty metres, though, and by the time you’d found the rhythm and felt you were making headway through the water, your hands hit the wall with a decisive jarring motion.

You hooked your fingers over the edge, taking in deep breaths of air as the others on either side of you reached the end as well. You hadn’t come last, at least.

You congratulated those on either side and ducked under the lane ropes to get to the edge, clambering out and turning to the electronic board that displayed times and places.

Third. You’d come third.

You barely had a moment to take in the fact that you hadn’t disgraced yourself dismally at your first meet since you were eight, before a body was attaching itself to you, arms clad with a towel wrapping around your shoulders and squeezing you tight.

You laughed, turning to look at Doyoung where he was grinning at you.

“Congratulations!” He beamed, squeezing you tighter still, “You did it!”

“I came third,” you tried to brush away the intense enthusiasm, not sure how to respond to the pride that was pouring from his eyes.

“Yeah!” He nodded, “That’s awesome!”

Then, amid the adrenaline and excitement, still standing on the pool deck with a cap over your hair, Doyoung stooped slightly to press his lips to yours.

You were stock still, your brain still tired form the effort from moments before, distracted by the way you could feel his soft, pink lips smiling against your own.

Then, in another instant, he pulled back, unwrapping his arms and stepping away from you with wide eyes, embodying a frightened bunny.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, “I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t meant to, I—”

You moved towards him again, and he seemed to think you were preparing to punch him, but instead you curled your fingers in the thick material of his hoodie to hold him in place as you returned the kiss, chastely placing your mouth on his. Before he could do much else, you had moved away once more, a cheeky smile adorned on your lips.

“It’s all because of you,” you told him honestly. You would not be feeling this sense of fulfilment and ecstasy had he not pushed you and put in the time, making something that could easily become tedious incredibly enjoyable.

Your words elicited a bright blush and an embarrassed smile, only adding to your feelings of achievement. If swimming could earn you reward kisses from this boy before you, you figured it could only become more worthwhile.

—

The water moved around your feet as you kicked them back and forth gently. They were dangled over the side of the pool, you sitting on the edge, wrapped in a certain someone’s swim team sweatshirt, nice and cozy during the early hour of this particular Wednesday.

You watched as the owner of the jumper swam down the lane towards you, body as elegant and strokes as seamless and streamlined as they were the first time you saw them in person. You dreaded the day you didn’t marvel at the beauty that was Doyoung in his element.

He reached the edge, large palms and long fingers touching the tiles, head emerging from the water, goggles quickly discarded on the side of the pool. He sidled over to you, holding onto your legs with his slippery hands. You were wearing shorts, leaving your calves and thighs exposed, the sensation of the cool water on your relatively warm legs somewhat uncomfortable but not entirely unwelcome.

He wrapped his arms around you lower legs, resting his chin on your knees as he peered up at you. You could feel his muscled chest heaving against your shins as he battled to catch his breath, but you were more distracted by the way his dark eyes were focused on you, affection glinting in their depths.

You reached down and peeled the rubber cap from his head, revealing his damp strands of dark hair. You ran your fingers through them, ruffling them hear and there. He closed his eyes at the feeling, sighing at the pressure of your fingers against his skull.

Your fingers went from his hair to his smooth forehead, drawing lines with a fairy’s touch along the straight, dark lines of his eyebrows, down the slope of his nose, over his cupid’s bow, along his thin, pink lips that sighed once more against the pad of your index finger.

After you’d mapped his features, he reopened his eyes and found the ledge of the wall beneath the water with his feet, elevating him further from the water and closer to you.

“Come here for a moment,” he told you sternly. You obeyed, leaning forwards to bring your face more level to his, already having an inkling of what was to come.

He braced his strong arms against the edge to heft himself further out of the pool, using the new leverage to connect his damp limps to yours. You greeted them with pleasure, lifting one hand to card through his disarrayed hair as your eyes fell closed, revelling in the feeling of him against you.

The languid cadence of you lips and tongues were forced to cease when the strength in his arms waned and he was forced to sink down into the water again. He resumed his position with his chin on your knees, taking in your gentle smile with a warm gaze of his own.

“You know,” you said, “Chittaphon said he’s going to revoke my key privileges. He thinks we’re doing the do in here.”

Doyoung scoffed, rolling his eyes gently, “Chittaphon has had more girls in the gym after hours than he wants anyone to know. Those are empty threats.”

You lifted your eyebrows in surprise, “Oh, what do you know, gossip-monger Doyoung?”

“Forget that,” he told you, squeezing your legs with his arms, “how about we prove him right, huh?” He suggested, wiggling his eyebrows at you. He was a far cry from the awkward, stand-offish boy of two months ago.

You used the heel of your palm to shove his forehead away, sending him backwards into the water. He bobbed up and down, pretending to be hurt by your rejection. It was only a moment, though, before the pair of you descended into fits of giggles, the melodious sound of your voice with his echoing around the empty pool centre.

It was definitely not admirable dedication to the sport of swimming that had you wasting precious hours of sleep away at the pool most nights a week.

Doyoung noticed your gaze that was averted to the ceiling, tracing the lines of the tiles as you thought.

He swam over once more, fingers holding onto your ankles and swinging them from side to to side.

“What’re you thinking about?” He questioned curiously.

You looked down at him once more and flashed him a smile you hoped helped to convey your feelings, “You.”


End file.
